


Maybe I'm too headstrong

by Builder



Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: Avocados at Law, Colds, Dizziness, Fainting, Fever, Foggy Nelson Is a Good Bro, Friendship, Gen, Human Disaster Matt Murdock, Hurt/Comfort, I think i got all the tags?, Matt Murdock & Foggy Nelson Friendship, Sickfic, Vertigo - Freeform, Vomiting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-02
Updated: 2018-06-02
Packaged: 2019-05-17 03:33:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 835
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14824472
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Builder/pseuds/Builder
Summary: “Ok, you know what?  How ‘bout I come by on my way in.”  Matt hears the sound of Foggy slamming a door.  “You’re echo-y.  You don’t happen to be, like, laid out on the bathroom floor or something, do you?”“Not laid out,” Matt mutters.  “Or on the floor.”“I’ll take your word for it.  Try not to die in the next few minutes, ok?”_____Matt's sick.  For realz this time.





	Maybe I'm too headstrong

**Author's Note:**

> The way to Laur's heart? Bucky.
> 
> The other way to Laur's heart? Matt. ;)
> 
> Find me on tumblr @builder051

Only a qualified medical professional can diagnose or treat a medical condition.

The pain behind Matt’s forehead has the characteristic prickly throb of a sinus infection.  He can guess his fever to a tenth of a degree (101.2, thank you very much).  He can practically smell the bacteria multiplying in his clogged nasal passages.  But self-diagnosis is a bad habit, and there’s no way he’s dragging himself to Claire’s for something so minor.

So when Matt ends up dizzily leaning against the foot of his bed at 10pm, one leg in his devil suit and fighting the urge to hurl, he decides he’s fine.  In need of a little rest, but fine.

He wakes up there the next morning, his back and tailbone in agony from the night spent sitting on the floor.  Matt’s alarm clock blares from the bedside table, and he trips over his suit as he scrambles to his feet.  At least that’s what he tells himself.  Admitting that he has no sense of equilibrium seems like a bit much for 6:30 in the morning.

Matt silences the clock and disentangles himself from the latex parasite around his ankle, then heads into the bathroom to freshen up for work.  But by the second time he gags on his toothbrush, he’s had enough of that too.  He sits heavily on the closed toilet and spits minty foam and snot into the trash can.  Matt’s ears are so clogged he can’t hear what his neighbors are up to.  The most prominent sound is his own heartbeat.

“Call Foggy,” Matt croaks at his phone.

“Calling Foggy,” the device obliges.  Matt puts it on speaker, and it rings out with an resonance as if it’s underwater.

“Hello?”  Foggy sounds chipper despite the early hour.  It knocks Matt’s mood down another couple notches.

“Hey, Fog,” Matt rasps, trying to clear his throat without hacking.  “I don’t…I don’t think I can come in today.  I think I’m sick.”  Still not a self-diagnosis.

“Ordinarily I’d ask if that’s ‘sick,’ like quote-unquote sick,” Foggy says.  “But I don’t think I need to be convinced.  You sound like shit, dude.”

“Yeah…” Matt coughs.

“Do you want me to come by later?  Bring you some lozenges or something?”

Matt bites his lip and waits for the room to stop tipping so he can open his mouth without feeling like he’s going to throw up. “That might not be a bad idea.”

“Ok, you know what?  How ‘bout I come by on my way in.”  Matt hears the sound of Foggy slamming a door.  “You’re echo-y.  You don’t happen to be, like, laid out on the bathroom floor or something, do you?”

“Not laid out,” Matt mutters.  “Or on the floor.”

“I’ll take your word for it.  Try not to die in the next few minutes, ok?”

“Sinister,” Matt grunts, though he should probably just shut up.  Talking is making his head pound.

“Yep.  So sinister.  See you in a few.”  Foggy hangs up, and Matt lets his guard down long enough to vomit into the trash.

He’s still spitting out strings of mucous when Foggy knocks on the front door and proceeds to let himself in.  “I’m coming,” Matt mumbles.  It takes an obscene amount of strength to get himself standing up, and he actually feels for the doorframe on his way out of the bathroom.  It’s probably the first time he’s done that since he moved in.  It makes him feel stupid.

The front door whooshes open with a gust of air from the hallway.  Matt feels the vibrations as Foggy says, “Good morning.”  The minute changes in pressure send his head spinning, and before Matt has a chance to process, he’s bashing his hip and elbow against the floor.  The jolt makes him want to gag all over again.

“Whoa, dude.”  Foggy’s footsteps thunder across the hardwood, and Matt’s stomach drops as strong, slightly sweaty hands pull him up to a seated position.  “How about I get you to the couch?  Would that be ok?”

“F-fantastic,” Matt pants, forcing a slow inhale through his nose and trying to swallow without choking on snot.

The world settles back into place as Foggy deposits him on the cool leather.  Matt tips his head back against the cushions and sighs in relief as his vertigo evaporates.  “Ok,” he murmurs.  “I’m ok.”

“No, man, you were just on the floor,” Foggy says, his tone heavy with obviousness.  “I’m pretty sure you can’t walk in a straight line.”

Matt doesn’t care.  He’s just glad he’s not barfing.  “Yeah…well…”

“I’m calling Karen,” Foggy says.  “Neither of us are going in today.  And you’re out for the rest of the week.”

“Says who?”

“Seriously Matt?  You’re giving Casper a run for his money in interpretations of ghostly pale.  You’ve got to be able to, I don’t know…sense that.”

“Everything’s a little dull at the moment,” Matt says, sniffling until his throat clogs and he’s forced to hack.  “But I’m working on it.”


End file.
